


Brightly Burning Embers

by Araine



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Canon-Typical Violence, Dancing, F/M, Fake Marriage, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Female Characters, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Sex, Mutual Pining, Pre-Canon, Pre-Thor (2011), Seven Samurai Plot, Sharing a Bed, True Love's Kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-08 01:09:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5477498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Araine/pseuds/Araine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A vengeful elf-queen's deadly schemes send Loki and Sif fleeing to an elf village on the eve of a festival of fertility.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brightly Burning Embers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sushibunny](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sushibunny/gifts).



> I have no excuses for something this ridiculously self-indulgent, except that I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Alfheim was supposed to be a paradise of serenity, but after nearly three days running through the woods all the luster had come off. Sif’s armor was caked in mud, and she was so exhausted that she kept tripping over exposed tree roots. All of her companions looked similarly the worse for wear. Thor drooped, shoulders sagging as though Mjölnir truly were an impossibly heavy burden. Loki seemed thin and drawn, too pale about the face, an effect of overextending his magic. Hogun had become even grimmer than usual, if such was possible, Volstagg had only grown louder in his complaints about their slim rations, and Fandral had stopped tweaking his mustache.

“We cannot go on like this,” Sif declared when she nearly toppled yet again. “Thor, we must do something.”

“We have an entire elf queen’s army hot on our heels,” Fandral said. “What do you suggest we do, turn and fight?”

“Sif’s right,” Loki said, looking off into the distance from where the sound of baying hounds was faintly approaching. “We’ll perish from exhaustion long before we reach the mountains.”

It had all started, predictably, with an adventure in Alfheim. The elf-queen Alfsigr had extended an invitation to the house of Odin, to hunt a dangerous drake terrorizing the people of her kingdom, and to reap the glory thereof. Thor and his companions had readily joined the hunt, and they had feasted with Alfsigr’s people.

It was Loki who had saved them from disaster. While the rest had eaten and drunk their fill, he had been watchful, and had found in the queen’s vault a sword spelled to kill Aesir by one single cut. In the middle of the night he had woken his companions, and they fled the trap only to discover themselves made blind to Heimdall’s sight.

“There is a settlement of elves loyal to Asgard in the mountains north of here,” Loki had said then. “If we can but reach them, they can send to Asgard and warn them of the queen’s betrayal.”

Reaching them had proven difficult, however. Whatever ground they had gained by their hasty departure was quickly lost against the tenacity of Queen Alfsigr and her army. They had stolen her sword and her secrets, and it seemed she would not easily give up either.

“We’ll split up,” Thor declared. “Into groups of three, and go our separate directions. Surely she can’t follow all of us.”

“Brilliant plan, Thor. She’ll just split her forces and we’ll be even more easily overwhelmed,” Loki snapped. Sif glanced sharply at him. His lips were pinched tightly, black brows drawn together. He looked as exhausted as the rest of them, and it was making them all irritable.

“Not if one group makes a lot of noise on their departure and draw the queen’s attention,” Thor said. “While the other two slip around and hide their trail.”

Loki still seemed unconvinced, so Sif put a hand on his shoulder. Under her touch she felt him flinch, primed to nervousness by three days of constant running. “It’s a good plan,” she said. “Better than letting her catch up with us, and we don’t have the time to argue.”

Loki seemed to consider this, and he gave Sif a wan smile. “I suppose you’re right,” he said. “Who shall be our bait then, and who shall carry the sword?”

“I shall be the bait,” Thor offered, “and Volstagg with me, for we are the loudest and most noticeable.”

Volstagg bowed to Thor. “I would be honored, my friend.”

“Loki, you will take the sword with Sif, and remain out of the queen’s sight. Fandral and Hogun will stay our original course and find our allies, for they are the swiftest.”

Fandral and Hogun both bowed and took their leave, disappearing quickly up the path ahead. Sif embraced first Volstagg and then Thor. “Be careful,” she said, voice low with emotion, for his job was the most dangerous. “Do not let her catch you.”

“If she does, I shall make her regret it,” Thor promised. He clapped Loki about the shoulder, broad smile rounding out his face. He handed the sword he had been carrying over to Loki, jeweled hilt first. “Keep this safe, brother. Now go, the both of you, there is no time to waste.”

“Do you doubt me brother?” Loki asked, dangerous mirth ringing his eyes, and he turned to Sif and extended his hand in invitation. “Shall we, my lady?”

Sif took Loki’s outstretched hand, his flesh cool and clammy beneath hers. “Let’s go.”

They turned off the path and into deeper woods, away from the sounds of Thor and Volstagg crashing through the brush and making enough noise for ten people. Sif listened tensely for a long while, her attention divided between listening for her companions and hiding her trail. The sounds of her friends faded, and with them the sounds of the elf queen’s hounds.

“It seems Queen Alfsigr has taken the bait,” Sif whispered, not daring to be louder. Sounds carried in a forest this quiet.

“If Queen Alfsigr cannot follow after all that then she is a fool,” Loki remarked into Sif’s ear. “Let us only hope he can keep up the ruse for long enough.”

Sif took one quick glance backwards, though of course she could see nothing but the golden-green shadows of sunlight filtering through the trees. Fear carved itself a den in her stomach and settled in, but Sif knew better than to give that particular monster a voice. Instead she hardened her resolve and led the way forward.

They did not speak much after that, making the journey in watchful silence. At any moment it seemed they might hear the elf queen’s forces after them, or perhaps some other creature with hungrier designs. The terrain they traveled over was by necessity difficult, the better to fool the queen’s forces, but it meant hard going. They took infrequent rests to eat and replenish themselves, and every time it was harder for Sif to force herself to start again.

It was Loki who spotted smoke on the horizon, shortly before dusk began to close in around them. The air had grown close and heavy and the sun had dipped so low that it shone through the trees. Sif had to squint to see the faint wisp of grey soot against the brilliance of the sky.

“It might be a village,” Loki said. “And we need to rest and replenish our supplies. You look as tired as I feel.”

“It might be the queen’s forces,” Sif countered, though her heart was not in it. He was right. She longed for a solid meal and a real bed.

“If so, then we should look anyways,” Loki said. “So we can know to avoid her.”

Sif agreed, and they approached the source of the smoke as slowly and as quietly as they could manage. When they were close enough, Loki helped to haul Sif up into the branches of a tall pine. He cupped his hands, and she stepped into them. Loki’s breath was warm against her thigh, and sudden heat curled in her belly. Sif hauled herself up onto the first branch, struggling in vain not to think of the way his hands brushed against her knees. When she looked down, Loki’s gaze was on their forest surroundings.

Sif took a steadying breath and began climbing. The bark was rough and sticky against her hands and the branches tangled in her hair. Sif was sure she looked a frightful mess by the time she reached the point where the boughs were too unsteady to hold her weight.

She peered out at the horizon.

Loki was right. It was a village, tucked snugly into the trees abutting a fast moving mountain stream. Grass roofed houses circled the center of the village, soft lights twinkling in the growing dusk like the eyes of a friendly stranger, dotted with bits of bright color. Sif smiled, her first hope in days giving her strength she hadn’t known she had, and she clambered down from the tree. Whether it was because of her excitement or because gravity was with her, the journey down took only a fraction of the time the journey up had taken.

Sif nearly landed on Loki when she jumped out of the tree. “You were right, it is a village,” she said, beaming at him. “Hopefully they will let us rest there for the night.”

Loki smiled too, and some of the hard edges seemed to lift from his face, green eyes only on Sif. In the wild giddiness of the moment, she wished that he would kiss her. She banished that thought along with the rest of her desperate hopes, considering the disaster it had made of everything when she'd last kissed him.

“We should hurry,” Loki said instead. “If we hope the reach the village before dark.”

The sun had dipped below the mountains by the time they reached the village, and the last lingering light cast everything in a dusky shadow that made for slow going as they tried not to trip over hidden rocks and tree roots. Sif could just make out the twinkling of lights in the distance and the sound of voices growing louder.

Loki stopped her just before the edge of the town, hand on her shoulder. “A moment,” he said, and waved a hand at her. Sif felt the electric energy of his magic tickle over her skin, and looked down at herself. Her arms and armor were gone, replaced by a woolen dress and a bedraggled cloak. Loki appeared to be similarly clad, the elf queen’s sword at his belt vanished by magic.

“It’s best we lay low,” Loki said, a sly cant to his smile in the growing dusk.

Sif didn’t argue, though she could see the strain of the magic on Loki by the sweat on his brow. Secrecy was too important. She rested one hand on his shoulder to steady him, and Loki conjured a smile.

“Let me do the talking,” he said, and led the way down the path to the village.

They were received at the gate by two startled elves who looked less like guards than like hunters put on watch, but who trained arrows upon them and asked about their business.

“We are but two travelers lost on the road,” Loki said smoothly, “hoping to seek rest and shelter for the night.”

“Wait there,” one of the elves said. “We must speak to the village elder.”

Loki inclined his head in a gesture of acknowledgment and Sif followed suit and they waited in tense silence for the village elder. Eventually she came to the gate, an ancient ash tree of a woman, slender and pale gray-green, her hair gone entirely white and her eyes gleaming faintly with reflected firelight.

“It seems we have guests,” she said, smiling at the both of them. “You are welcome in our village. I am called Ingard, elder of this village. What brings you here? We do not often receive guests, particularly not of the Aesir.”

Loki smiled and wrapped one arm around Sif’s shoulders. She shot him a look, silently trying to ask what he was up to, but Loki barreled on.

“I am called Leif, and this is my wife Sigrun. We were married not but a fortnight ago, and came to Alfheim to while away our wedded bliss.” Sif, open mouthed and hoping the dusk hid her shock, kicked Loki’s ankle. She could feel him buckle, his weight dragging against her, but he continued without missing a beat, “Unfortunately we ran afoul of cruel marauding trolls, and lost all our possessions but what was on our backs.”

“My husband and I would be ever so grateful for your assistance, Lady Ingard,” Sif said, and she wrapped an arm around Loki’s waist, squeezing harder than was perhaps necessary for the illusion. “We have been on the road all day and are sorely in need of rest.”

“Our felicitations on your marriage,” Ingard said, placidly unaware of Sif’s private alarm. “You have come at a fortuitous time, for tomorrow is the festival of Kynslóð, and you would be honored guests.”

“I’m afraid w—“ Sif started to decline, when Loki interrupted her. “We would be delighted to join in your festivities, wouldn’t we my dear?”

“Thrilled,” Sif said, smiling up at Loki, her eyes glittering dangerously. If he noticed the danger he was in, Loki did not show it. He led Sif through the gate and into the village. Already word had got around that there were strangers in the village, as elves young and old crowded around to see the newcomers. All were tall and fair of face, with wide luminous eyes that followed Sif and Loki as they passed. They chattered amongst themselves in low, hushed, reedy voices, sounding like the wind through trees.

Ingard led them through the houses to the center of the village, where wood was already laid for a great bonfire. A dead boar lay beside on a bed of leaves, preserved by magic for the coming festivities. The bits of color Sif had seen from afar were banners dyed brightly in all colors, draped between the houses and through the branches of the trees, making the already airy elven architecture seem exuberant.

The door to Ingard’s house lay just beyond this spectacle, four towering floors built around an ancient oak at the center. Sif and Loki were shown to a place of honor in the dining hall, which was large enough for all of Ingard’s considerable family (and, she suspected, a few who were not family) to attempt to meet their guests. Sif bore round after round of introductions, sure she would never remember so many names and relations, while Ingard’s youngest granddaughter served them up stew and bread.

The enticing smell of the stew banished Sif’s irritation in a rumbling from her stomach. Hardly caring for polite manners, she began to eat in heaping bites. The stew was strange on her tongue, sharp and sour with a creamy undertone and studded with some savory morsels, and by her third bite she found she had a taste for the stuff. It was not long before she polished off her first bowl and sopped the remains up with the fluffy bread. She had scarcely finished her first portion when a second was brought for her.

While Sif ate, Loki talked. He was prevailed upon to recount the circumstances of their being in the village and did so with aplomb, somehow adding a wild river rapids crossing and a pack of hungry wolves to their tale of marauding trolls. His audience hung on his every word, gasping in all the appropriate places. Sif rolled her eyes and concentrated on eating her second bowl of stew.

She wasn’t sure how Loki managed to eat with all the talking he was doing, but somehow he finished off several bowls as well, though that did not discourage his audience. Sif, full and comfortable for the first time in days, drowsed against the table, the lilt of Loki’s voice lulling her into a half-awake stupor.

Loki nudged her, and Sif jerked suddenly awake. The hall by this point was near empty, the hearth fire burnt down to embers.

“You would do better with a proper bed, my lady,” Loki said, grinning slyly at her. “I’m sure the table cannot be comfortable. Ingard had given us a room upstairs.”

Sif nodded, and stumbled to her feet, yawning as she did so. “How are you still awake?” she demanded of Loki. “Surely you are as tired as I.”

“Ah, but I hide it better,” Loki said, still grinning, as he led her up the stairs. Sif leaned into his arms, sure that they were the only things keeping her upright. He was remarkably strong, though he looked so slender. “And besides, I was entertaining our hosts while you were snoring.”

“Soaking up their admiration, more like,” Sif retorted. “Truly, my lord, it is a wonder that they did not see through such obvious fabrications.”

“That is the beauty of it, my lady,” Loki said, looking so ridiculously pleased with himself that Sif scowled. “They saw through the obvious lies, and so will never think to look at the subtler ones.”

Sif shook her head, sure that this was wrong somehow, but then he was the liar and not her and she was too tired to argue. Instead she said, “Someday that silver tongue of yours is going to get you into more trouble than you can get yourself out of.”

Loki chuckled, a dark sound brushing against the shell of her ear, and heat curled up in Sif’s stomach again. She shivered, all the way up her back. He pushed open the door to their room and led her inside.

Only one bed lay in the center of the room, broad and covered with light blankets and invitingly soft-looking pillows. Sif looked to Loki, dismay dragging her up from her fatigue.

“Why did you have to say we were married?” she asked, holding up and inspecting the nightdress that had been draped over the bed’s baseboard for her use. It was barely decent, made of cotton so sheer and light she could practically see through it even in the dark. Careful embroidery covered the more important bits.

“What lie should I have spun then, to cover a man and a woman traveling Alfheim alone?” Loki wondered. “We do not know to whom these elves are loyal.”

“I don’t know. You’re the silvertongue, not me.” Sif shook her head, deciding that she was too tired to care about the nightdress or the bed or Loki’s inconvenient deceits. “Turn around,” she ordered.

He did so obligingly, and Sif began unlacing the conjured woolen dress. “My lady wife is so cruel,” Loki remarked, “to make me turn away while she undresses.”

Sif snorted and pulled the woolen dress over her head. She draped it over the baseboard and grabbed the nightdress, slipping into the flimsy thing. It fit loosely even over her warrior’s shoulders, pleasantly cool in the warm Alfheim night air, and Sif supposed that there was a practical reason for the nightgown after all.

“Okay,” Sif said, giving Loki the go ahead to turn around. She was not immune to the effect of his eyes upon her, his lashes dipping as they slipped shut and then opened, nor the way his lips parted, white teeth flashing. Sif drew in a shuddering breath, warmth that had nothing to do with the night air inching through her.

“You look lovely Sif,” Loki said, eyes lingering, before turning his gaze away and grabbing for his own nightclothes. Sif drew another deep breath, to calm her racing heart and obligingly turned away as he had for her. When she spun back she found that Loki’s nightclothes were as thin and revealing as hers, the sharp lines of his body standing out in pale detail in the lamplight.

She had never in her life been blind to his physical charms, but the heady blend of fatigue and sweet smelling night air brought the attraction bubbling to the surface. _Stop,_ Sif told herself, _before you break your heart all over again._ Loki had long ago made his wishes on that matter perfectly clear.

Sif willed her gaze away and clambered into bed, finding that there was enough room that she could stretch out comfortably without abutting her companion. She covered herself with the thin blankets and laid her head down on the pillows, drowsiness almost immediately overtaking her.

“Loki,” she asked the question that had been lingering at the back of her mind all night, “what did you do with my armor and weapons?”

“Worry not, my lady,” Loki said as he slipped into bed beside her. “They are safe.”

Two breaths later and Sif was asleep.

She woke with the morning sun on her face, feeling comfortably drowsy. She rolled over, finding herself alone in the grand expanse of the bed. Sif swallowed her disappointment at that. Loki was awake already, and dressed in a gold tunic that fit enticingly snug against his shoulders. He looked, if not entirely well rested, at least refreshed, his skin brighter and the darkness banished from around his eyes. The elf queen’s jeweled sword lay in his lap, and Loki frowned down at it, long fingers plucking at something unseen in the air.

“Careful,” Sif said. “You don’t know how quick that might kill you.”

Loki’s eyes flickered up to Sif, and his fingers stilled in the air. “I am trying to discern the enchantments upon it,” he said. “It is remarkably subtle and deadly, designed to take the soul of an Aesir at the slightest cut. If the sword were to draw your blood you would be dead in an instant. I would not have thought queen Alfsigr to have this kind of power or this skill.”

“She did manage to hide a remarkable number of things from us,” Sif said dryly. “Treason against Asgard was only the first of many.”

“I’m also puzzled by how she managed to hide us from Heimdall’s sight.” He looked, if anything, speculative rather than worried. “I did not think it was possible.”

Sif frowned, for that was also puzzling to her, though she had no answers. Instead she asked, “Do you think Thor and the others are all right?” She’d been too tired last night to truly worry about them, but with the morning sun fear for her companions had reasserted itself.

Loki frowned, pushing his lips together. “I’m sure they’re fine,” Loki said reasonably. “Thor is too bullheaded to let himself be captured without a fight, and with that hammer of his he’s a formidable foe.”

“Two foes against an army,” Sif pointed out, frowning at the blankets. “Even Thor can’t match those sorts of odds.”

“Indeed,” Loki said, and something strange and distant flashed in his eyes that made Sif shudder. “In any event, queen Alfsigr can’t do anything to them without this.” He gestured to the sword still gleaming and deadly in his lap. “She’s more likely to keep them as bait until she gets her precious sword back.”

“Then let’s make sure she _doesn’t_ get it back,” Sif murmured.  

Loki chuckled. “I doubt I shall learn much more by staring at the sword,” he said, setting the weapon aside. “And since there is nothing we can do for Thor but lay low, shall we join our hosts for breakfast, lady wife?”

Sif, having forgotten about that particular lie, groaned and flopped back on the pillows. “Give me a minute to wash and dress,” she said, and pushed herself out of bed. She found a dress of the same golden silk that Loki was wearing, which she carried into the small washroom adjoining their room. There she drew herself a warm bath and she cheerfully scrubbed the dirt and pine sap from every inch of her.

Feeling much cleaner and more awake, Sif dried herself and then dressed. She found to her delight that the dress was embroidered with tiny golden flowers on the collar and cuffs, nearly invisible against the golden fabric. The bodice fit snugly, but the skirt flowed comfortably around her legs, giving her a full range of movement. It was not what she would have chosen for herself, but she liked it despite that.

She emerged to find Loki waiting, the sword vanished to wherever he had stored her armor and the rest of their things. He smiled at her, eyes lingering a moment too long.

“Well, husband?” Sif said archly, turning to show off the lines of the dress.

“I could not ask for a more beautiful wife, even if only for the duration of our subterfuge,” Loki said. He paused, gaze flickering away, the silence heavy between them. “I am sorry that my lie caused you distress, Sif.”

Sif stepped forward into his orbit and turned his face towards hers. “It is well enough,” Sif said, allowing her gratitude to show in her smile. “We were neither of us at our best yesterday. I would have been out to sea but for your silvered tongue.”

Loki grinned, some of his customary wickedness coming back to him. “There’s the adoration I expect from my wife.”

“Keep that up my lord and you will find yourself single before day’s end,” Sif warned, though the twinkle in her eyes betrayed her mirth.

“Then I see no incentive, as I will find myself single by tomorrow in any case.”

Laughing, Sif led the way downstairs, where she found porridge waiting for her. This was just as delicious as the stew from the night before, and was studded with a sweet and sharp-tasting fruit that left her mouth tingling. Sif ate enough that Volstagg would be proud of her appetite.

Ingard drifted over to the two of them, smiling placidly. “I hope you slept well,” she said, inclining her head towards her guests.

“Very well, thank you,” Loki said, with a gracious bow of his head. Sif smiled, and echoed his sentiment.

Ingard’s smile only broadened. “You must have been very tired,” she said. “For newlyweds you made no noise at all.”

Sif nearly choked on her porridge, but managed to get the bite down just in time. She could feel heat rising on her neck, and she looked frantically to Loki. There was a touch of pink in his cheeks, and she could feel his fists slowly curling against her thigh, but otherwise he betrayed no alarm. “After such a long day of travel, we went to bed almost immediately,” he said.

“Let us hope that tonight shall be better then, hmm?” Ingard said, and she drifted away.

“What was _that_ about?” Sif hissed under her breath.

“I’ve no idea,” Loki replied, as quiet as she. “Just play along for now.”

When she had finished the last of her meal an elf woman approached Sif. She was very beautiful, her skin a golden-green and her hair like fire spun into gleaming threads. “Lady Sigrun,” she said. “We extend our invitation for you to join our village’s women in preparation for the festival tonight.”

Sif shared a look with Loki, who only shrugged his shoulders. “I would be honored,” she said, and she followed the woman out of the hall.

“I am called Katla,” the elf woman introduced herself. “We met last night, in my grandmother’s hall, though I doubt you remember me. My younger sister served at your table.”

Sif struggled to remember the haze of the evening before and failed. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I was so tired last night, I hardly remember getting into bed.”

Katla laughed. “Do not worry,” she said. “I get to meet you now, and teach you the bonfire dances. I will be the envy of all my friends, for bringing an Aesir into their company. They all wish to meet you.”

Sif, amused, did not comment on this. Instead she asked, “What exactly is this Kynslóð festival for?”

“It is a festival for spring, and for new growth and fertility,” she said. Sif’s stomach sunk at that last. Of course they would walk straight into a fertility festival, posing as newlyweds. “First we feast and dance around the bonfire,” Katla continued, oblivious to Sif’s distress. “Then wedded couples jump over the bonfire ashes for the blessings of fertility, and after they retire to—well—I’m sure you would know, being a married woman and all.“

Katla looked demurely away, but Sif was fully able to fill in the obvious blank herself. In the privacy of her head she cursed Loki. These elves would expect two newlyweds to bed one another, if not for children then at least for the sake of the festival.

“You’re very lucky,” Katla said. “Your husband is so beautiful, and he tells such marvelous stories.”

“He has always had a gift for words,” Sif said absently, her mind on other things. _Someday that silver tongue of yours is going to get you into more trouble than you can get yourself out of._ Why had she said that? The Norns clearly had a wicked sense of humor.

As promised, Katla showed Sif off to all her friends. They marveled over her black hair and her fair complexion, then eagerly crowded around to teach Sif the traditional dances. This she greatly enjoyed. Dancing had always been a pleasure for her, the steps often as intricate and complex as swordplay, and she was quite good at both. Soon she had mastered the simpler dances, and Katla assured her that no one would expect her to dance the more complex ones.

This only spurred Sif to the challenge, and she doggedly memorized every step Katla showed her. At last she was proficient, though she was nowhere nearing the graceful ease of her teachers. That came either from years of practice or some natural elvish quality for delicacy.

“I do hope that somebody is teaching Leif these dances,” one of the women remarked, “or all of this practice shall come to naught.”

“The men will teach him their part,” Katla assured her friend. “Though whether he masters the dances as well as you have remains to be seen.”

Sif, suspecting that Loki would take to the challenge with as much tenacity as she had, only smiled.

They partook of a light midday meal and after that the women braided Sif’s hair into a style so complex there were never fewer than three of them working on it all at once. Others still painted Sif’s hands with some kind of flowering golden vine. They chattered, about the foods to be had at the upcoming feast, or their own sweethearts, or the upcoming planting season.

“I only hope we will harvest enough this year to appease the queen,” said one of them. That sent a ripple of anxiety through the group, and two women quickly shushed their friend.

“Lady Sigrun doesn’t wish to hear about that, Dalla,” Katla hissed.

“Actually,” Sif said, her interest piqued by mention of the queen, “I would very much like to hear it, if you don’t mind.”

Another round of anxious looks was shared amongst the girls, and that alone had Sif’s instincts clamoring that something was definitely wrong here. At last Katla said, “Well, it’s not as if it’s forbidden to speak about.” But for a long while she did not speak. Sif waited, not daring to interrupt her new friend. “We are beholden to Queen Alfsigr, for she is queen of all these lands. Every equinox and at midsummer and midwinter she demands tribute from all her villages, and those that cannot pay are visited by her army, who take prisoners up to her castle.”

“After that they’re never seen again,” said the girl Dalla, who had first spoken up, in a hushed voice. “It’s said that she sacrifices them, and uses their blood to power her magic rituals.”

Sif filed this away with a sinking feeling in her stomach, as she counted up Alfheim’s calendar. “Tomorrow is the equinox, though,” she said, looking around at all the girls.

“Yes,” Katla said uneasily. “It is. We are lucky-- we have enough stored away that should satisfy the queen.”

Sif, not sure how far she could push these women, let the conversation wander to easier topics. Soon enough they were chattering again, their fluting voices weaving around Sif in a familiar pattern that she was not quite party to, for it was the way of women who had known one another their entire lives. She was but a guest here. She did not feel excluded, but honored to be among them.

They were far more interested in her fresh gossip than their own familiar stories, and asked Sif many questions—about Asgard, about the wider world, and about her apparently-quite-popular husband. Sif attempted to answer as best she could.

“How did you and Leif meet?” they asked, to which Sif could only tell them the truth, and hope that Loki wasn’t spinning wild tales of their imaginary courtship to all who would listen. They should have agreed upon a story last night. “We’ve know each other almost all our lives, since we were young.”

“And how did you fall in love?” Katla asked, leaning in, her elfin eyes round and luminous.

“Slowly,” Sif answered evasively. “I was blind to his charms at first but he—won me over.” And when she had finally succumbed and she had come to him, he had made it clear that he did not want her.

“I find that hard to believe,” said another woman. “He’s so handsome, and that tongue of his seems so clever…”

Sif, currently suffering the drawbacks of Loki’s clever tongue, snorted. “Every part of him is too clever by half.” This drew a gale of fluting laughter from the women surrounding her, and Sif felt a blush creep up her neck. She hadn’t meant for them to draw innuendo from her statement, though perhaps it was better that they did.

“I find it very believable,” Katla declared of Sif’s story. “Or have you not seen the way he looks at her? Only a man lost in love looks at a woman that way.”

A murmur of agreement passed its way around the group, and Sif found herself wondering just what it was these women saw when Loki looked at her. He had always been better at playing out a ruse than any of the rest of them, taking a certain and perverse delight at fooling all around him.  After years of friendship Sif believed she was capable of untangling his true feelings from the many facades.

Surely she would have noticed if Loki was in love with her.

The sun began to draw close to the horizon, and soon the smell of bonfire smoke and cooking meat filled the village. Sif joined the women in their procession to the center of the village, where they mingled around the already roaring bonfire with such a large crowd of elves Sif found herself getting lost among all the new faces.

Loki was in the middle of them, his clever tongue drawing a crowd once again as he spun a story that Sif dimly recognized as some greatly exaggerated version of an adventure they had gone on with Thor. It was mostly, she noticed, women who crowded around to listen to his tale. Sif listened from the back, not interrupting, though Loki caught her eye and smiled and her heart did an absurd leap.

Eventually his tale spun itself out, culminating in a glorious victory against countless foes that Sif remembered as a hardscrabble little skirmish in the mud and the rain, and in the end the fair maiden was united with her truest love. The listening women sighed and then, when it seemed Loki was done telling tales for the moment, dispersed.

Sif approached, one hand on her hip. “I hope you haven’t forgotten you’re a married man, with all these women hanging on your every word.”

Loki took his hands in hers, coaxing them away from her side. “How could I forget,” he asked, kissing each hand in turn, “when I have the most beautiful wife here?”

Sif rolled her eyes at this flattery, though she accepted Loki’s arm for a turn about the bonfire. “I hope you had a pleasant day, my lady.”

“It was very enlightening,” Sif responded.

This piqued Loki’s interest, and he lifted both his brows. “Oh?” he asked.

Sif leaned in close, as though taking him into a lover’s confidences, and said, “This village is beholden to queen Alfsigr. Some women believe she is taking her subjects for blood sacrifices.”

Loki’s mouth drew into a tight line. “Blood magic would—explain many things,” he said. “Especially if she is hoarding magic to move against Asgard.”

“Her forces will be coming tomorrow to collect their due,” Sif said quietly. “We should leave as early as possible.”

“Quite sensible,” Loki agreed. They had made a full circuit of the fire, and Katla came to both of them to drag them to the feasting. After her light midday meal Sif found herself with a healthy appetite for all that was offered, from the roast boar to the steamed vegetables to the delicate sugar-and-egg concoctions that looked almost too beautiful to eat, and the honey-golden sweet mead that sparkled like sunlight and flowed like water.

Loki entertained with another story, this one to her knowledge entirely a fabrication. He seemed to bask in all the attention without Thor or Volstagg or their other more exuberant companions there to steal his glory. Sif was content to let him. She had battle stories of her own, but they had all been told in Asgard’s great halls, and she did not have the penchant for exaggeration that made a truly great storyteller.

He finished as the feast was ending and someone struck up a quick tune on the pan pipes and the lyre. The dancing was where the pleasant and jovial evening turned into something much wilder, elves spinning around one another with a speed Sif could scarcely follow, daring couples flirting closely with the open flames.

“Dance with me,” Sif invited Loki, holding out her hand. He took it, eyes sparkling with a challenge that Sif answered, as she guided him to the center of the whirling dancers. The steps were still fresh in her memory from the day’s lessons, and Sif found herself speeding up to match the revelers around her.

As she suspected, Loki had taken to the intricate steps with as much fervor as she, and Sif found herself well matched. He did not miss a step, even when she attempted to challenge him by speeding up or adding another move to the dance, and she had to think as quickly as she did on the battlefield to keep up with him. Sif’s mouth split in a wide grin.

She steered them closer to the fire, never once slowing down despite the danger of the hot coals. Loki cocked one eyebrow at her direction. “Sif…” he said warningly.

“Have you turned craven, my lord?” Sif asked, twirling behind his back with the little four beat hop-step that Katla had shown her, eyes twinkling in the firelight.

“Of course not,” Loki answered smoothly, bringing her around to his front. “My only concern was for your shoes.”

“They are quite beautiful, aren’t they?” Sif said, glancing down at the borrowed shoes as she drew close to Loki’s chest, exhilaration and the heat from the fire making her wild. “All the more reason to dance precisely then.”

Loki grinned then, something manic to match her wildness, and spun her so dangerously close to the coals that she could feel their heat pressing against her ankles. Giddy and light-headed from the atmosphere and the mead she had drunk, Sif pulled Loki along with her, her pulse pounding wherever they touched.

The dance came to a riotous close, a last burst of clamorous movement and color before everything was stillness. Sif’s breath gusted hard from her lungs, sweat beading her brow, fingers curled in Loki’s. His gaze dipped low to her heaving breast and then quickly away and Sif thought of Katla’s surety that he was in love with her.

They returned to the outer ring of revelers as the next dance began, to cool themselves and drink some more sweet mead. Katla found Sif as she poured herself a generous cup.

“You’re quite adventurous, lady Sigrun,” said the elf, narrowing her eyes in a gesture of mirth, her red hair sparkling even brighter in the firelight. “I would not have gone so close to the fire on my first dance.”

“The good lady Sigrun has never been one to shrink from a challenge,” Loki answered, grinning wickedly at her.

“You know me too well,” Sif said.

“I imagine there are many clamoring to dance with both of you,” Katla said with a sly smile. “Though you two make such a striking pair, I think it would surprise no one if you danced only with each other the rest of the night.”

“Far be it for me to deny my lady wife the pleasure of other dance partners,” Loki said, a wicked grin curling at the edge of his mouth. “So long as she returns safe and soundly to my bed at the end of the night.”

_He is just teasing for the sake of it,_ Sif thought, heat unfurling within her at the look in his eyes. _Even Loki would not be so thoughtlessly cruel._

Even so, Sif raised her cup to her lips and near drained it.

She danced several more times over the course of the evening, often with unknown elves, though Loki claimed his fair share of wild turns about the fire that left her giddy and light-headed. Each time she stopped to catch her breath she was complimented on her boldness and her talent in picking up the dances so quickly, and Sif took honest pleasure in demonstrating her skill.

The great bonfire dwindled down to glowing embers, letting the shadows creep in, so that each of the dancers became nothing more than a dark silhouette. Sif was not sure when the atmosphere shifted from pure revelry to something more primal, only that she felt it in the sweet and heavy air. One by one couples found each other for the final rite, to leap over the hot coals and receive a blessing from Ingard the village elder, and then to find some secluded— or in some cases not so secluded— spot for the evening.

“Shall we?” Loki asked, hand on her arm and lips against her ear, and perhaps it was the mead or the effect of the night but this was nearly enough to undo her.

“I suppose we must,” Sif responded, breathless, and they made their way to the fading remains of the fire.

The leap over the coals was easily done for two Aesir blessed of their kind’s strength, and they cleared the fire with no mishaps. Sif and Loki both bowed to accept Ingard’s blessing and then, under the eyes of a watchful crowd, Loki turned and kissed Sif.

It was not a lingering kiss, his mouth soft and sweet against hers for but a second, but the shock of it thundered through Sif like a powerful blow. She swayed headily against him as he led her from the circle of firelight and into Ingard’s home.

Only once they had closed the door to their borrowed room behind them did the full impact of what Loki had done strike Sif. Loki had kissed her. Loki had _kissed_ her and danced with her and shared such looks with her that she felt like she might burst into flame at any moment, and it was none of it fair when she thought she had finally reached her equilibrium around him.

Faced with either fury or despair, Sif chose fury.

She rounded on Loki, giving his chest a solid shove. He rocked back, nearly toppled by her sudden violence. “What in Hel’s name was that for?” she hissed, only barely remembering that they might be overheard and her vehemence might spoil the illusion of marital bliss.

“Well, seeing as we’re supposed to be married—“

Sif growled, low in her throat. “I swear, Loki Odinson, that once we are safely back home I shall take every inch of this out on your hide at the practice courts.”

Loki drew himself up, his jaw clenched. “As my lady wishes,” he said stiffly, not meeting her eyes. “Now that you have made it clear that you are repulsed by my touch, it won’t happen again.”

Sif stared at him in astonishment. “ _Repulsed?_ ” she demanded. “Is that why you think I’m angry?”

Loki turned his gaze on her at last, a brief flicker of confusion replaced by stony disdain. Loki’s gaze stung like she had been slapped. “Then pray enlighten me, my lady, as to the nature of your fury.”

“You pretend to be my husband, you dance so closely with me, you look at me as though you desire me — even Katla believes you are in love with me! Do you truly not see how that would be distressing?”

“The last I knew you were party to our deception,” Loki hissed. “Though it shall be over by morning, so I see little point in arguing over it.”

How like him, to see her feelings and not understand in the least. “Do you truly expect me to just forget that all this happened?” Sif demanded. “I never took you for a fool, Loki, but perhaps I was wrong.”

Loki took a step away from her, and once again he would not meet her eyes. “If it is Thor’s opinion you are worried about then I promise, I shall breathe not a word of this to him.”

Sif staggered back, the white heat of her fury giving way to pure confusion. “Why should I care one bit what Thor thinks of this?”

“Hide your feelings to others if you like, but do not try to fool me Sif,” he said, and the bitter edge to his voice caught her off guard.

Sif was no stranger to people believing she was secretly in love with Thor. Half the court was convinced that it was her reasoning for becoming a warrior in the first place, never mind that she had said or done nothing to encourage that notion. She had not thought that _Loki,_ who was as close to her as anyone, believed the rumor.

“Loki, I’m not in love with Thor.”

Her voice carried softly across the room that suddenly felt too close. Finally he looked to her, green eyes full of some strangeness that made her throat tight.

“You do not need to spare my feelings Sif,” Loki said, quiet. “I know well my shortcomings compared to my brother. None in Asgard has let me forget them, since the day I was born.”

Sif thought back on the night she had come to his door, drunk on wine and giddy hope, and he had refused her. Missing pieces of that night fell sharply into place.

“Is that why you turned me away when I came to you?” Sif asked. “Because you believed me in love with Thor?”

“I have enough pride to not take secondhand affection,” Loki said stiffly. “Even when it is offered.”

Sif’s fingers clenched into fists. _Damn_ him and damn his awful pride. For that alone had they gotten into this mess. Sif charged forward and wrapped her hands in the front of his tunic and when he opened his mouth to question her she said, “Loki, you are a fool” and kissed him.

This was no chaste bit of sweetness stolen in the firelight. Heat surged between their mouths, fueled by too many years of desperate longing. Sif’s hands curled tightly around his shoulders and his hands found the small of her back and they drew one another closer into the kiss. Sif opened her mouth to him, an invitation that Loki eagerly took with that clever tongue of his.

They parted, Sif gasping for air, sure she had forgotten how to breathe. Loki seemed in a similar state, his eyes glazed with shock and wonder.

“We’re going to talk about this later,” Sif promised, drawing him in for another kiss, and then another. “Later. But for now you are going to undress me and we are going to make up for lost time.”

“Of course,” Loki whispered, making her shiver agreeably as his hand crept down her thigh.

If they were too loud, then in the morning it was not remarked upon by their hosts, who no doubt expected a certain amount of enthusiasm. Sif and Loki ate their breakfast porridge—this one made with the savory leftovers of last night’s boar—quickly, conscious that the queen’s forces could ride up to the village at any time.

Ingard gifted them with travel rations and a map of the countryside which she assured them would get them back to the main road. They both thanked the old woman for all of her generosity. Sif then embraced Katla, who had come to see her off, and they left the village behind.

As promised, Loki returned Sif’s armor to her and she gratefully buckled on her shield. Away from the village now, the urgency of their quest seemed to come back full force, and Sif found herself warily watching the back while Loki watched the front.

Neither Sif nor Loki seemed inclined to break the spell of the morning by speaking of what had passed between them the night before. Despite Sif’s promise that they would talk about it, she was content to let this newfound affection between her and Loki linger in their intertwined fingers as they walked down the road, looking for a place to peel off.

Once they had covered enough distance they paused and Loki spread Ingard’s map out over a fallen log. It showed Queen Alfsigr’s lands in clear detail, from her castle to the mountains that Fandral and Hogun had run for. There was no easy road between where they were and where they wished to be, and they took their time in arguing out a route that would deliver them there as quick as possible.

A woman’s shout from down the road broke their concentration. Loki folded the map and they both sank into the trees off the side of the road with the ease of long practice. They waited, watchful, as the shouting grew louder and finally became intelligible.

“Sigrun! Lady Sigrun!”

Sif stilled, her breath catching. “It’s Katla,” she said, standing from her crouch.

Loki jerked his head, a clear enough signal of his disapproval. “Sif, no,” he said. “You don’t know why she’s here, it could be a trap.”

“It’s not,” Sif said, unable to ignore that desperate screaming. She broke cover and headed out onto the road, with Loki sighing and following after her.

Sif reached the road just as Katla came tearing around the bend. Her fiery hair was disheveled and her golden-green skin was discolored around the cheek, as though she had been struck. She slowed, smiling when she saw Sif.

“Sigrun,” she said, heaving in great gasps of air. “I’m so glad I found you… You’re wearing armor, I don’t understand—“

“Never mind that,” Sif ordered, setting her hand on Katla’s shoulder. “Breathe, and tell me what’s wrong.”

It took a few minutes of breathing and a long draught from Sif’s water skin before Katla could tell the story, and when she did it was in halting chunks. “The queen’s forces, they came not but an hour ago. They demanded twice their usual tribute, they said that the queen planned to make her move soon. Then they told us we had until tomorrow’s noon to gather what they demanded, or they’d start taking people for the queen.” A strangled sob choked out of Katla. “I ran to you as soon as I could—I thought, maybe you could go to Asgard and get help—that’s what the queen needs the magic for, she’s going to attack Asgard.”

Sif exchanged a desperate look with Loki, wondering if he saw the obvious flaw in Katla’s idea.

“It would take three days just to get to Asgard, let alone gather reinforcements,” Loki said bleakly. Katla fell to her knees, a sob of despair welling up from her, a long piercing note held shivering in the air. Katla had been friendly to her, had brought Sif into her circle without even knowing who she was, and now her whole world was going to be destroyed.  

If Queen Alfsigr was gathering her power to make a move then it was in response to the theft of her sword, which meant that Sif was responsible for whatever came down on Katla’s village. Guilt wrenched in Sif’s stomach.

“We have to turn back,” she said. “We have to help.”

“How?” Loki demanded. “The two of us alone can’t stand against an army. You know that as well I do, or at least you did two days ago.”

“I know that,” Sif said, teeth scraping against her lip as she thought quickly. “But it won’t be an army coming to Katla’s village, and we won’t be alone.” She looked to Katla, who had stopped wailing and now only looked up at Sif. “If your people are prepared to fight for themselves, we just might be able to save them.”

Katla nodded, determination stiffening her lips. “We will do it, whatever needs to be done, I swear. I will make them if I have to.”

Loki shook his head. “You shall be the death of me someday, I swear it,” he sighed. “Let us go back then.”

The journey back to Katla’s village took half the time, as they abandoned secrecy for speed. They found the elves in a panicked uproar, one fluting voice after another talking over each other. Some looked to Katla as she passed, and when their eyes turned to the Aesir she had brought with her Sif saw the beginnings of despair in them.

“Everyone, please, be quiet!” Katla called, and slowly rings of silence rippled outwards from where she stood, all eyes turned to her. Katla ran her fingers nervously through her flame-red hair. “There is no way to get word to Asgard in time, but hope is not lost to us!” A burble of nervousness flowed through the crowd waiting to see what Katla would say next. “We can defend ourselves! Our friends here will help us to push back the queen’s army, to save our lives and our homes, if we are willing to fight for them!”

Finally, Sif saw hope in the faces of the gathered elves. She smiled, fiercely proud of their determination to protect their home. She did not even need Katla’s blazing rallying cry, “I’m ready to fight for my home! Are you?” or the answering shouts to see what they had already decided.

Ingard, who had watched all of this silently, nodded gravely. “We will do what we must to defend our lives.”

Sif took a place beside Katla, looking out over the crowd of expectant faces waiting for her to save their lives. She knew the grim truth that she would probably not save all of them, but she made herself a promise that she would save as many as she could.

“We split into two groups!” Sif ordered, pitching her voice so that it carried across the village center. “Those of you who know how to use a weapon—even if it’s just for hunting—with me. The rest of you will be setting up perimeter defenses and learning how to use them with L—with, my husband.” She caught Loki’s broad smirk in the crowd and nearly scowled at him. “The Fates be kind, we will see you through this!”

The gathered villagers let out another cheer and began to organize as Sif had directed them. Sif smiled to see Katla among her group of villagers, ready to raise a weapon and fight. She counted around two hundred villagers in all, a sizeable battalion.

Sif led her group over to the open ground that stood between the houses and the river and then bade them retrieve their weapons and return quickly. They did so, bringing bows and spear guns and staves and in a few cases ancient swords passed down through generations.

First Sif parted the ranged from the melee fighters. She checked each elf’s technique in turn, offering suggestions and corrections where she found them. None of them were masters of their chosen weapon, but Sif was nonetheless impressed by the skill they did have. Once she was assured that they could all wield their weapons without harming themselves, Sif began drilling the elves in combat. The hardest part of training any fighting force was getting them to fight as a unit, breaking them of the desire for glory at the front of the battle.

She kept them at it until the sun dipped low on the horizon and she could see them all drooping with weariness. Then Sif dismissed them.

“Eat well tonight, and then try to sleep, or rest as well as you are able,” she ordered. “In the morning, eat only lightly. There’s little worse than throwing up on the battlefield.” She grinned with wry experience. “You are as ready as I can make you—the rest will be up to you.”

They straggled home in weary groups, and Sif could see the fear come creeping back into their eyes. Alone in the dark they would wonder if they could truly defy the will of Queen Alfsigr, or if they only marched foolishly to their deaths. In the morning she would have to do the work again of bolstering their will to fight.

Katla had no trace of fear in her when she strolled up alongside Sif holding her hunting spear, though there was a tense edge to her smile. “How did you learn to fight like that?” she asked.

“I learned in the palace at Asgard,” Sif told her, “and later on more battlefields than I can name.”

“You’re a warrior then?” Katla asked, eyes shining with her regard for Sif. “The Norns must have sent you to us in our time of need.”

“Yes,” Sif said, guilt tickling at her stomach. “Though it was not the Norns that brought me here, Katla. I’m afraid we haven’t been entirely honest with you?”

“What do you mean?” Katla asked.

Sif sighed, the truth tumbling from her “I mean that my name is not Sigrun, it is Sif. I am a warrior in Odin’s court. The man I am with is Loki Odinson and the second prince of Asgard.”

“I don’t understand,” Katla said, lips trembling. “Why the lie?”

“We were guests of Queen Alfsigr until we learned of her treason and had to flee her army. Loki and I had to part from our friends because on our way out we stole a sword made to kill Aesir. We didn’t know who we could trust. That’s the reason why she’s coming after you now, because we foiled her plans.” Sif shook her head ruefully. “I’m sorry.”

“I—I see,” Katla said, though Sif could see the hurt in her eyes. “That makes sense, I suppose. Just…” she paused, to wipe unsteady hands on her skirt. “Was everything you said a lie? Are you even married?”

Sif felt wretched. “Not everything, no,” she said. “But… Loki and I are not married.”

Katla nodded slowly. “I won’t tell anyone,” she said. “At least not until after tomorrow. They need to trust you until then.”

Then she smiled sadly at Sif and walked off down the path, leaving Sif behind with a pit where her stomach should have been. Slowly Sif gathered herself up and returned to the center of the village where she found Loki waiting for her, fretting over a magical schematic that glowed between his palms.

“I’ve finished setting up defenses that should get us through this suicidal plan of yours,” Loki said. “Provided their forces do not outmatch your estimates and they don’t bring heavy artillery, and… Sif?” His brows knit together into a question at the sight of her face twisted into misery.

“I hate lying to my friends,” Sif said bitterly, and for once Loki had the sense to say nothing.

They returned to the borrowed room in Ingard’s house, where Loki laid out his magical map of the village on which he had marked the fortifications he had set up. Most were traps or illusions of his own design that would fool or slow the enemy, although he had managed to make clever explosives out of kegs of mead. Sif placed her troops on the map, marking each with a glowing dot, shoring up weak spots in Loki’s defense and positioning them so they could take advantage of his traps.

At last Sif turned away from the battle plans and to Loki. He was watching her, his luminous eyes tracking her every movement as though he were wary of what she would do. _Even after last night he does not believe that I could love him,_ Sif thought, not sure if she should laugh or be furious that he would not take her at her word.

In the end she was too weary for either, and she found her way into his arms where he wrapped her in a loose embrace. Sif leaned up and kissed him, letting the sweet tenderness hand between them.

“I’m sorry for dragging you into this Loki,” Sif said, resting her head on his shoulder.

“Trust me,” Loki murmured into her hair. “If I did not wish to be here then I wouldn’t be.”

Sif smiled and began to unbutton his tunic.

Dawn came, gray and misty, and Sif found herself wide awake and unable to get another bit of sleep. It was always this way on the eve of battle. She disentangled herself from Loki’s long-limbed embrace, washed and dressed and then opened up Loki’s luminous battle map. She puzzled over it, working out anything and everything that could go wrong, until Loki woke.

He stretched languorously out on the bed and nearly managed to take up all of it, then turned to look up at Sif through his long lashes. He looked softer somehow while waking, composed of fewer hard angles.

“You’re up early,” he remarked, eyes lingering over the battle plans.

“I couldn’t sleep,” Sif admitted. She sighed, looking down at the map. “Perhaps you’re right, and this was foolish of me.”

Loki got to his feet, letting the blankets fall away from his naked torso, and kissed Sif on the back of the neck. “You’ll soon learn I’m always right,” he said, and she could feel his grin. “But,” and he kissed her again, “if there is anyone in all the Nine Realms who can pull off this impossible scheme of yours, it is you.”

Sif turned around and pulled Loki’s lips down to hers.

The village was suffused with an aura of nervousness, as the elves prepared themselves for battle. As she had instructed the villagers under her command, Sif ate only a light breakfast. She was too consumed with nerves to stomach anything more.

The morning dragged inexorably on, the mist burning off slowly and giving way to clear skies and heat. Noon crept just around the corner when the boy Sif had put out to watch the road came back to report that he’d spotted the queen’s forces heading their way. Sif found Katla talking with Ingard, holding the old woman’s hand and reassuring her, and turned away. Instead she found another one of her fighters, a man with an ancestral sword that held luck for the wielder, and asked him to call the village together.

They came, round faced and wide eyed, in a terrifying mixture of fear and trust. Sif took a steadying breath and stepped up onto a raised porch so the gathered crowd could see her.

“Most of you know your orders, know what needs to be done. Remember to work together and we may yet come through this. I won’t lie to you. You will see death today,” Sif said, her voice carrying in the still morning air. “And not all of it on the side of our enemies. But I also know I don’t have to remind you why we are here,” she called, her voice rising in pitch. “These are your homes, and your families we are protecting. What more is there worth fighting for? What more is there worth dying for?”

She could see the effect of her speech in small waves throughout the crowd, as they all stood just a bit straighter. Sif grinned, a fierce and battle-worn grin.

“Together!” she cried, and raised her sword in vicious salute. The villagers echoed her cry, raising whatever they had available to them towards the heavens, and even Sif found herself getting swept up in the moment.

Loki was waiting for her below the platform she had chosen, clapping softly. “That was a very nice speech,” he said. “Very rousing. I was inspired.”

“Now all I have to do is win the battle,” Sif said dryly. “You know what you have to do, don’t you?”

“Do you doubt me?” Loki wondered.

Sif rolled her eyes gave him a quick kiss and then she busied herself with directing her soldiers to their places, and tried not to wonder which of them would come through this alive.

She had scarcely got them all into place when she heard the tromping of boots up the road. A lone messenger came wandering up the road, though Sif knew from her scouts that the enemy waited closely behind. “Remember,” Sif whispered to the men closest to her, “do not attack and _do not_ let him see your weapons.”

She watched the road tensely as the villagers passed this whispered order down the line. Queen Alfsigr’s messenger sauntered up to the gates and pounded on them with his mailed fist. Down below Sif’s perch on the wall, two elves hauled open the wooden gates. Katla met him there, her flame-red hair a beacon below.

“I have come on behalf of Queen Alfsigr, your liege lady to whom you owe your obedience, to collect tribute in the amounts agreed upon yesterday, or else to take custody of your citizens. What say you to this?”

Katla spat upon the ground. “We say that we do not have your tribute, and that we would not pay it in any case, for Queen Alfsigr is a witch and a tyrant. Go home and tell your queen that.”

“Very well,” the messenger drawled, sounding bored. “You give me no choice but to seize your citizens by force of arms.” He leered suddenly at Katla. “That bruise looks very pretty on your face, girl.”

Sif had to reach out to stop one of her archers from firing, though privately she agreed with the sentiment. She gave the woman a quelling look.

“Rot in Hel,” Katla called after the messenger, and turned on her heel to march back inside the gates. The two elves who had opened the gates hauled them shut again, securing them with a sturdy beam of spelled wood that would not splinter.

“Wait for my signal to reveal yourselves,” Sif ordered down the line again, and she returned to watching the road. As she suspected, when the queen’s forces came up the road they were not expecting any resistance beyond the barred gate. They carried a battering ram with them, but their spears and shields were down, and some had even forgotten to wear helms.

Sif waited, counting each moment by heartbeats, for when they were close enough. She could feel a ripple of impatience along the wall, but mercifully none of them broke cover. Only when the queen’s soldiers were well within throwing distance of the walls did Sif yell, “Now!”

She broke over the wall and pulled the trigger on her spear caster. The bolt took a man in the chest, punching right through his armor and into his chest. The first volley took their enemy completely by surprise, and Sif counted fifteen soldiers dead in addition to her own.

She ducked behind the cover of the wall to reload a heavy bolt into the spear-caster and then took careful aim. By now the soldiers had realized they were under attack and they held their shields as a barrier between them and the deadly projectiles.

She loosed another bolt. This one flew wide of her aim, but still caught her man in the shoulder. He dropped and Sif reloaded.

By the time she was ready to fire again the enemy captain had called the retreat, leaving the field a bloody mess behind him. Sif called out a ceasefire once they got out of easy range, not wanting to waste bolts or arrows. A cheer went up down the wall.

“That was the easy part!” Sif called, her voice carrying across the battlefield. “They’ll be better prepared next time!”

Still, she let the villagers have their moment of victory. It would bolster their resolve for what would come next.

The second attack hit from both sides of the village at once, two massive interlocking shield walls, but this time they had Loki’s trap spells to contend with. Villagers threw glass balls that exploded into silvery mist that left the men they standing dumbfounded, distracted by invisible dreams, leaving them easy pickings for her archers. From the other side of the village where Loki manned the walls, Sif heard shrieks of nightmarish terror. When they reached the gate with their battering ram, two elves poured an alchemical concoction over the attackers that smelled like metal and burned like acid.

Sif’s first man fell, struck by an enemy arrow as he peeked over the wall, he was dead in an instant. For a moment the volleys slowed, as her archers turned to see to their fallen neighbor.

“Hold fast!” Sif ordered. “Eyes on the battlefield!”

Her makeshift soldiers resumed their onslaught and soon enough the captain called another retreat. Sif waited until they were out of sight before she helped to carry the dead man down off the wall. She remembered him from her training session, and thought bitterly that she could not recall his name.

“Ufi, my lady,” said one of the village healers Sif had pressed into service as battlefield nurses when she asked.

Sif closed his wide and glassy eyes. “Then I shall meet you in the halls of Valhalla, Ufi,” she said.

That done, Sif clambered back up onto the wall. It was late afternoon by now, the day’s heat sweltering in her armor. Sif drained her water skin and sent for more water to be brought around to everyone on the wall. Far below Sif could hear Ufi’s loved ones sobbing over his death.

“When will the next round come, my lady?” asked one of her archers, an elf so slender she hardly looked like she could carry her bow let alone draw it,  as she scanned the horizon for any sign of the enemy. They seemed to have vanished, but Sif knew better.

Sif thought as she peered out through the trees. It was the bane of any battle commander, trying to puzzle out the enemy’s tactics. “Sunset, probably,” she said. “Or early dusk. They’ll be hoping you’re stupid or tired enough to abandon the walls before full dark.”

The archer grinned. “Then it’s a good thing we have you, isn’t it, my lady?”

When two of the village girls brought up bowls of stew for an early supper, Sif was grateful, for she hadn’t even realized how hungry she was. She ordered every fifth archer on the wall to keep watch while their fellows ate. The sweet-sour elvish stew was even better the second time.

As Sif had predicted, the queen’s army did attack again at dusk, using the cover of the growing shadows to conceal their movements. Sif had ordered lamps lit along all the walls, large globes of light that lit everything around with a kind of hazy glow, but they still got closer than she would have liked.

It was only a cursory attack, designed to test her defenses, one that Sif’s forces repelled easily. This made them happy, but Sif nervous.

When it grew full dark Sif set watches and sent the rest of her villagers to bed. To their credit, none of them had complained, though she knew how tired they must be. She had set herself the morning watch, but felt no compulsion to go straight to bed. Instead she took a stroll about the village.

It seemed so long ago that all of these houses had been bedecked in full revelry for a festival of love. Today she had made their homes a killing ground. As she walked several elves came up to her, to thank her for saving their village. Sif stopped, and spoke with each one, offering words of encouragement she wasn’t sure she felt before sending them on their way.

“You’re a hero, Lady Sif.” Loki’s drawl came out of the shadow between two houses, making Sif jump. He appeared, hands spread disarmingly. “Hero to the elves, mighty slayer of armies…”

“Just what I needed from you,” Sif said. “Sarcasm.”

Loki’s brows drew together. “I’m sorry, did that sound like sarcasm?” he asked. “I’m actually quite impressed. After seeing all of this, _I’d_ think twice before sending an army after you.”

Sif grinned. “Seeing as you’re so likely to send an army after me,” she teased. “Though it seems you did half my work for me. I heard the screams from across the village—what did you _do?”_

Pride flashed in Loki’s eyes and the edge of his smirk. “When a giant flaming wolf charges your enemies they don’t stop to ask whether it’s _real_ or not—they just drop everything and run.”

Sif laughed. “You’re actually enjoying this, aren’t you?”

Loki did not deny the accusation. Instead he settled his hand on his shoulder and began to steer her towards the center of town. “Come, my lady—even heroes need their rest.”

“I’m far too awake to sleep,” Sif protested.

Loki’s grin was wicked. “Then I can think of other things to pass the time.”

With dawn came the enemy. They came in force, a mass of elvish soldiers marching at the walls. First one villager dropped dead and then another, and Sif screamed at the rest to hold fast, that the time for fear and mourning was later. She fired and reloaded her spear caster, fired and reloaded again and again.

In seconds they reached the gate and began battering at it, but the beam of spelled wood held fast. Later, Sif thought through the mechanical haze of battle, she would have to thank Loki. She could never have done this without him. Across the battlefield one of his traps fired, a glyph of flame that ignited panic where it burned.

Another fired, and another. Still they came, professional soldiers all, fighting through their fear. This was the difference between the queen’s army and her villager fighters, who broke a little bit more every time one of their own fell.

An explosion rocked the wall Sif was standing on, nearly knocking her off her feet. Fearful heart battering at her chest, Sif looked for the source. The queen’s forces had uncovered a bow made of metal the size of two men that glowed with the heart of fire.

Sif swore so loudly the air shivered. “Get me Loki!” she ordered, and when her men looked at her blankly she remembered their deception and considered swearing again. “I mean—Leif, my damned husband, somebody get him!”

Somebody ran. The wall shuddered with another concussive blast. Sif ordered her melee fighters to form up at the gate, then handed off her spear caster and buckled on her shield, her pulse pounding in her head. A bar of wood spelled not to break was less than useless when they could just blast the gate apart.

Loki appeared at her side, pale and beaded with sweat, and Sif wondered just how much power he had exerted on his magic. There was no time to think about it.

“They’ve got an implosion bow,” Sif said, yelling just to be heard above the din of battle. “Can you--?”

“I’ll try,” Loki said, and closed his eyes. She watched, not daring to speak or even breathe, as his gaze shuttled behind his eyelids and his mouth moved. He stood and spun, using the momentum of his spin to hurl some bit of emerald magic across the battlefield. It hit a silvery sheen as thin as a soap bubble and shattered.

“It’s shielded.” He shook his head, frustrated. “If you could just get close, then—“

“What do I need to do?”

Loki conjured something out of thin air, a sphere of delicate metalwork inscribed with writing too small for her to see. “Attach this to the bow—but you can’t be in the way when it goes off.” His gaze held hers, deadly serious. Sif took the sphere from him, and affixed it to her belt.

Her warriors were all formed up at the gate, clutching their hunting spears and ancestral swords. “Just clear me a path,” Sif ordered Loki. She took up her sword, spinning it to reveal its second blade. Loki nodded his understanding, and turned to cast another spell. She leaped off the wall, landing at the fore of her forces.

“We need to clear a path, to get me to their weapon!” Sif ordered, looking around into all of their faces. Katla stood at the very front, her spear poised in front of her. What did she think of battle, now that she had seen a day of it? “Once I’ve gotten there, retreat back inside the walls!”

Screams went up outside the walls, and the pounding of the battering ram ceased. From up on the wall Loki signaled to her. Sif gave the order to open the gates.

The forces battering against her wall were gone, vanished from the field of battle. Sif wondered what, exactly, Loki had done with them, then raised her sword. She charged at the vanguard of a mob of screaming, angry villagers, cleaving a path through their enemies.

Her blood was up, the fury of war roaring in her veins. Sif cut down soldier after soldier, wielding her shield like a battering ram, her sword a whirlwind of death.

In the battle she found herself beside Katla, working shoulder to shoulder. There was no time to think or say anything. Katla twirled her spear in quick, precise darts, and anyone that came into her orbit soon met their death. All around her Loki's magic flashed, wreaking havoc upon their enemies, tricking and disorienting them.

Sif found herself at the implosion bow, though she would be hard pressed to say how she got there. She dodged a concussive blast, feeling the heat from its passing, and speared one of the bow’s operators with her sword. Katla finished off the second.

Sif fumbled for Loki’s device at her belt. A shout of fury interrupted her, and Sif barely got her shield up in time to block a strike from a greatsword. The strength and power behind the blow shook her shield arm. She held her sword between her and her opponent, a powerfully built elf dressed in a captain’s livery.

He swung his greatsword with a dangerous ease. Sif knocked aside another powerful blow with one blade of her sword, twisting around to catch him off guard with her other blade. He dodged, the downswing of her sword ruffling his icy blond hair as it passed.

Sif struck out with her shield, feeling it connect with a satisfying crunch. The captain staggered back.

He screamed and charged her, battering her shield with his strength. Sif knocked back into the implosion bow, her skull thudding against metal, pain a lightning strike behind her eyes.

Sif managed to get her sword up and spear him through the gut. She held, twisting her sword through his vital organs, until he fell limp. Sif let him fall. Her head was swimming, making her fingers clumsy as she reached for Loki’s device. She managed to get it unhooked and place it on the fore of the bow, where it hovered and began to spin, giving off a high pitched whine.

Task done, Sif slumped against the bow. Battle raged around her, the clash of metal and the howling of screams coming to her from somewhere far away, dulled by the pain in her head.

“Retreat!” someone yelled, and Sif realized it was Katla. She smiled. Given the opportunity, Katla would make a great commander. “Back to the gates!”

Katla shook Sif by the shoulder, hauling her up. “Come on, my lady,” she ordered. Sif got to her feet, stumbling back to the village gates over the bodies of the dead. Some were villagers, whom she had sent to die. Katla would not let her stop moving.

They reached the gate, rushing inside with anyone who was left. On the battlefield, Sif could see two soldiers inching towards the implosion bow, and frowned through the haze clouding her mind. What was Loki waiting for?

A blinding explosion left spots on Sif’s vision. Something concussive pressed against her eardrums, nearly deafening her, and a wave of heat rolled over the battlefield. When Sif could see at last, the implosion bow was gone, along with the soldiers who had been inching towards it and everything else for meters around. All across the battlefield the queen’s soldiers stumbled to their feet, fleeing the battlefield or struggling to form up.

The elves got the gate closed and bolted and Sif sighed her relief. She leaned against the wall, promising herself only a quick rest, if only to keep her knees from dropping out from under her.

When she broke the surface of awareness again, Loki was at her side, peering into her eyes. He was calling her name, concern etched into his brows.

Sif grinned up at him, love making her giddy. Or perhaps that was the hammer-and-anvil pounding in her head. “Hello,” she said, torn between the desire to kiss him and the desire to never move again. “Why didn’t you use that thing of yours earlier?”

“I needed a suitable substrate to attach it to,” Loki explained. “And that was well over an hour ago. That seems to have been their last effort—they’ve retreated, broken camp.”

“Good,” Sif said, though something confused her. “Who’s been leading then?”

“I have.” It was Katla, her flame-red hair matted with sweat and what looked like dried blood. “And I told you to get to the healers.”

Sif, who did not remember this, shook her head. “Don’t need healers,” she protested. “Just need to lay here.” She grinned licentiously at Loki. “You could join me.”

Loki shook his head disparagingly. “You’ve been knocked silly,” he said. He knelt down, scooping her up by her knees and underneath her arms. Sif, who found this quite agreeable, nuzzled into his neck while he carried her. “Stop that,” Loki ordered. “Does your armor really have to be this heavy?”

“It’s armor,” Sif argued. “It wouldn’t do much good if it _wasn’t_ heavy.”

Loki deposited her with the village healers among the rest of the wounded. They had set up a makeshift battlefield hospital, laying out cots where the wounded could rest easy. Despite her protests that she did not need a healer, Sif felt immediately better when they began to work on her. First they gave her something to dull the pain of the headache, and then they went to work on the swelling in her brain. Loki stayed with her through this, making smart remarks about how hard-headed she was, which made Sif reach out and punch him.

Eventually the village healers told her to just sit and rest and let the healing do its work and Sif was only too happy to oblige. She leaned back on her cot, closed her eyes and curled her fingers in Loki’s, content to rest.

She was dredged up from sleep by another voice, one of the villagers this time. Sif sat up, finding it much easier for a few moments of slumber, and her head much clearer.

“My lady,” the villager was saying, “the scouts have come back, and they found something. A message for you.”

Sif frowned. What sort of message would they leave behind? She struggled to her feet. When she left the makeshift hospital, a cheer went up around the village as the elves crowded around her, slowing her progress to a near stop. Sif smiled at them, though it seemed the whole village wanted to thank her or simply to touch her.

Eventually the scouts had to come to her, looking flushed and exultant and carrying a bundle of cloth with them.

“We found this left in their camp, my lady,” the messenger said, handing their bundle to Sif. She unfolded it, finding inside a letter on parchment and a jeweled dagger tied with a scrap of red cloth that made Sif’s heart drop. “Perhaps you can sense of it.”

Sif opened up the letter and read.

> My congratulations on your victory. You have given me a great gift: a reminder of the skill and tenacity of Asgard and its people. In thanks for this gift, I will grant you the same courtesy. One day to return my stolen property to me. If it is in my hand by sunset tomorrow I will see that your friends die a painful death before turning the full force of my army on that village you have labored so valiantly to protect.
> 
> The choice is yours.
> 
> Queen Alfsigr.

Sif folded the note carefully, her blood turned to ice in her veins. She untied the scrap of red cloth tied to the jeweled dagger, seeing it now for what it truly was: a piece of Thor’s cape.

In a daze, Sif found Loki on the village wall. Mutely she handed him Queen Alfsigr’s note. He read it in tense silence.

“So,” he said at last, “she has Thor. Perhaps Volstagg and the others as well.”

“And she wants the sword we stole,” Sif said, fighting to keep her voice from trembling. “She knows where we are, and that we have it.”

“We can’t give it to her,” Loki said.

Fury exploded from Sif, her fist slamming into the wall. It cracked under the force of her blow. “She has Thor!” she shouted. “We can’t just leave him to her mercy!”

Some strange shadow flickered behind Loki’s eyes. “I did not say that,” he said mildly.

Sif uncurled her fists. “What do you suggest then?” she asked.

“We trick her,” Loki said. “If she thinks we have surrendered to her, that she can get what she wants, she will leave Thor alive and herself unguarded. If we can kill her quickly enough then whatever blood magic she has used will be broken.”

Sif raised her eyebrows. There were a thousand ways that could go wrong, the two of them walking into the enemy camp to surrender. “That is not a very good plan,” she said.

“I didn’t say that either,” Loki said. “But it’s the only one we have.”

Sif scowled, trying furiously to think up another scheme that would keep Thor safe, the village safe, her and Loki alive, and keep the sword out of the queen’s hands. It seemed impossible.

“Fine,” Sif growled through gritted teeth. She turned on her heel. “We need to get moving if we want to be there by tomorrow.”

Katla found her packing furiously for the both of them. She hovered, a ghost at the door, before Sif invited her inside the room.

“You’re leaving then?” Katla asked. “That’s what they’re saying around the village.”

“The queen has my friend,” Sif explained. “We have to try and get him back.”

“You and… Loki? What if the queen’s army comes back?”

Sif nodded. “If we can, we’ll make sure she can never attack your village again,” she promised. “I’m sorry we can’t do more than that.”

“It’s alright,” Katla said, putting one slender hand on Sif’s shoulder. It was surprisingly warm. “Without your help we might all be dead now, or worse.”

Sif looked down. “I’m sorry I lied to you.”

“You didn’t,” Katla said, smiling so sweetly that Sif had to smile back. “Not about what really matters.” She picked Sif’s shield up from where she had laid it and handed it to her. “I have an old air skiff that you can use, to get to the queen’s palace.”

Sif took the shield solemnly. “Thank you,” she said. “I cannot think of a better protector for this village than you.”

Katla blushed and looked down, but her smile was all fierce pride.

Katla showed Sif and Loki to her skiff, and they took their leave of the village a second time. Just as they were about to depart Katla ran at Sif, catching her up in a fierce hug.

“I’ll miss you,” she said, and then looked towards Loki, who was checking over the skiff’s flight controls. “You do know he’s in love with you, right?”

Sif glanced at Loki, who had raised one curious eyebrow at their gazes, and smiled fondly. “Yes, I think I know,” she said.

She clambered into the skiff, settling in next to Loki, careful not to touch the queen’s sword that was stowed carefully at the bottom with the rest of their things. She sat, pressing her thigh to his. “What was that about?” he wondered, inclining his head towards Katla.

“Nothing at all,” Sif replied.

A rush of hot air sent the skiff hovering, and then sailing off towards the queen’s castle, with Loki as its expert pilot. They skimmed across the tops of the trees, their passage sending a chill wind through the leaves, so all the trees shivered in their wake. Sif sought out Loki’s free hand and curled her fingers in his.

“We’ll get Thor back,” he said.

Sif nodded grimly. “I know,” she said.

His gaze slid away from her face. “And then—if you wish—I shall step aside.” She saw his jaw ripple as his teeth clenched.

Sif pulled back, stung by his lack of faith in her. “Loki,” she said, peering at him. “I thought we talked about this.”

“So did I,” Loki said. “Until earlier I saw the depth of your affection for my brother—“

Sif’s fingers balled into fists. “Will we be forever cursed to fight about Thor, then?” she demanded.

Loki sneered at her, an ugly expression that made Sif want dearly to punch him. “You love him,” he spat.

“Of course I do!” Sif shouted at him. “As I love you, as I love the rest of our friends, but you are the only one I want to be with Loki! Do you truly think my feelings for you are that fickle?”

Loki only stared at her, caught off guard, his mouth working but for once finding no words.

“Or perhaps you are just being needlessly cruel by doubting me,” Sif said. She clambered to the front of the skiff, as far from Loki as she could possibly get, and there set to furiously sharpening the edge of her blade for the battle to come. Loki steered the skiff expertly in tense silence.

“Do you blame me?” he asked at last, voice just barely carrying over the whistling wind. “When Thor has gotten all that I have ever wished for in my life?”

Sif clenched her jaw. “I blame you when you give to him that which is not yours to give.”

They spent the rest of the journey not speaking, until they could see Queen Alfsigr’s castle in the distance and Loki landed the skiff. Together they unloaded their things. Loki tucked the jeweled sword under his arm.

“Why did we have to bring that with us?” Sif wondered, scowling at it distastefully. “We should have left it in the village.”

“Even a mediocre sorcerer knows when he is handling his own magic,” Loki said. “Much as I hate to admit it, Queen Alfsigr is far more than a mediocre sorcerer.”

“Is she truly that good?” Sif asked, fearing for him suddenly. “Will you be able to match her?”

Loki scoffed. “She may have power and blood magic, but she’d need much more than that to match me,” he said. “The problem is if she has her warriors with her – though after this morning’s display, I trust you’ll have no problem with that.”

Sif drew herself up, so that her sword flashed. “Of course not.”

Loki set about writing a note detailing the terms of their surrender to Queen Alfsigr. They both expected them to be readily ignored, but as their surrender was little more than a ruse, neither of them worried about it. Once it was finished Loki sent it off on a gust of air.

The reply was almost immediate, a note on the same parchment as the first note and signed by the same hand. It said that Queen Alfsigr accepted their terms of surrender and that they would be searched at the gate. Loki confidently assured Sif that his magic would handle the search.

She drew in a deep breath. “Let us go then.”

Loki only smiled, and gestured for her to lead the way.

The gate to the queen’s castle was wrought out of an airy steel that shimmered with a rainbow of colors. Despite how delicate it looked, Sif knew how strong that gate would be, and she shuddered when it clanged closed behind her.

As promised, Queen Alfsigr’s guards searched them for weapons and found none but the queen’s sword at Loki’s waist. When they reached for the sword Loki pulled it from reach with a look that managed to imply that though Loki was at their mercy they were less than slime to him.

“Your queen will get this,” Loki said, “only after we see that our friends are safe.”

“As you wish,” the guard sneered and led them into the castle’s courtyard. The castle was a spectacle of shining metal and white stone, curled into delicate and intricate patterns. There were fewer guards in the courtyard and what few were there were dressed up like decorative gamepieces.

Queen Alfsigr was the beautiful masterpiece at the center, her blue skin and silvery hair shimmering ethereally in the sunlight. A tiara crowned her brow, and the wispy silks of her robe were splayed artfully over her shimmering throne where she looked gracefully bored. Thor lay behind her, stretched out on a stone bier in his armor, eyes closed an expression peaceful. At first glance Sif feared he might be dead until she saw his chest rise and fall.

“It’s a magical sleep,” Loki explained in a whisper. “She probably couldn’t hold him any other way.”

Sif looked around at the courtyard, which was full of the queen’s forces. This whole thing would go much better with Thor by their side. “Can you break it?” she wondered.

“Given a few minutes, yes,” Loki said and he turned his eyes forward, his lips just barely moving as he worked.

That left Sif to speak with the queen.

Queen Alfsigr smiled as they approached, baring her teeth. “Ah, the second prince and the lady warrior,” she said, looking them over with a glance that made Sif shudder. “I expected more resistance from you.”

“Promise you won’t hurt Thor,” Sif said, “and we will do as you ask.”

“Is that love I hear?” Queen Alfsigr asked, turning her gaze speculatively on Sif. “I’m not surprised—he is quite handsome.”

Sif almost rolled her eyes. Why did _everyone_ have to assume her in love with Thor, simply because she was his friend?

“I wouldn’t have harmed him in any case,” Queen Alfsigr said. “He will be important leverage in my war against Asgard. You, on the other hand…” She smiled again, showing her teeth.

Loki flicked his eyes to her, a reminder that Sif decoded easily. _Keep her talking._

“Why attack Asgard?” Sif asked. “Surely you knew you’d never win.”

“With Asgard’s two heirs to leverage against the throne?” the queen scoffed. “I’ll have them all dancing to my tune. I will make Asgard bleed for what they did to me!”

Sif frowned at the exultant queen, understanding eluding her. “And that was—what, exactly?”

“They took my birthright from me!” Queen Alfsigr hissed, her face contorting from the artful mask to something dangerous and wild. “If not for Asgard’s meddling I would rule all these lands, not just this pittance of a kingdom!”

Sif frowned. Long ago Asgard _had_ helped the Elven kingdoms to draw up new borders, to better keep the peace between their warring peoples. It had not made a particularly lasting impression in her schooling.

“ _That’s_ why you’re angry?” Sif wondered, astonished. “You rule a kingdom! What more could you need?”

The queen flew to her feet, her beautiful features twisting until she was transformed to a fury. “You think to mock me, girl?” she shrieked, the embers of her eyes boring into Sif’s. “Enough! I will have my sword, and you will not deny me!”

Sif took a step back, looking around to Loki, who shook his head at her. He wasn’t ready. Her boots scraped against the stone parquet as she centered herself into a stance. “Sorry, your majesty,” Sif said, and punched Queen Alfsigr in the face.

The queen stumbled back to her throne. Her hand flew to her ruined cheek, checking the damage done to her lovely face. Inside her luminous eyes Sif saw hatred burning. Her guards rushed to her side, raising swords and spears at Sif.

Sif pursed her lips, looking over the queen. “Actually, upon second thought, your majesty,” she said. “I’m really not sorry at all.”

She reached out her hand. Loki gestured and Sif’s sword was in her grasp. She spun, blade flashing, easily cutting through the first wave of guards who ran at her. The rest paused, wary of her skill with a sword. She pressed her back to Loki’s, who had his knives to hand.

“Anytime you wish to wake Thor would be welcome,” she told him.

“I’m working on it,” Loki said, spinning to hurl his knives at the cautiously approaching guards before retrieving them by magic. “I thought you’d keep her talking longer!”

A guard came within range of Sif’s blade and she took her chance, cutting through his spear and into his chest. He dropped, run through. “Did she seem in a talkative mood to you?” she asked.

Queen Alfsigr laughed, a high and shrieking sound that echoed across the beautiful courtyard. “I thought you might try this!” she cried. “So I have a surprise of my own for you!”

A roar shook the very air. A gale of warm wind picked up in the castle courtyard as something blotted out the sun. Sif looked up, something huge and red and toothy filling her vision. Her heart dropped through her chest.

“Did you know she had a damned _dragon_?” she demanded of Loki.

“No more than you did,” Loki said.

The dragon landed on the parquet floor, sharp claws digging up colored tiles. It roared again, the heat of its breath making Sif wince. What guards remained backed away to the edge of the courtyard to give room to the great beast.

“I did promise you a drake hunt, did I not?” Queen Alfsigr screeched. She reached out, magic sparkling blue against her hands. The beautiful statues and shrubberies began to lean in towards them, like the queen’s own grasping claws.

Loki threw his hand out at Thor’s prone body. “Done!” he shouted, triumphant. Then he whirled, his own magic sparkling in his fingers, and the reaching decorations snapped back like trees in an explosion.

A ripple of hot air warned Sif a moment before the dragon opened its maw and breathed fire on them. She dragged on Loki’s tunic, pulling him out of the way. He rolled, bounding to his feet to reflect another bolt of the queen’s magic.

“You take her,” Sif ordered Loki. “I’ll deal with the dragon.”

“As my lady commands,” Loki said, and broke away from Sif, fingers weaving another clever bit of magic. Sif watched him go, her heart following in his wake.

She spun her sword, eyes on the great scaly beast, watching the way it moved. It opened its mouth, expelling another ripple of hot air. Sif flung herself out of the way of the gout of flame that followed and came to her feet at the side of a rapidly awakening Thor.

She grinned down at him, tears pricking at her eyes, overcome with relief to see him after so long apart. He blinked up at her, taking in his surroundings with growing confusion.

“Sif?” he asked. “What are you doing here?”

“Rescuing you, of course,” Sif answered.

Thor got to his feet, eyes widening when he took in their reptilian foe. “And the dragon?” he asked.

“That I’m not so sure about,” Sif said. She brought her shield up between her and the beast, watching for another blast of flame. “Care to help?”

“You think I would miss this?” Thor asked, and then he laughed. That great booming sound was why Sif had followed him into countless battles, because he could look at any danger and laugh at it and make it conquerable thereby. She grinned, heartened.

They rushed forward together, ducking past a roar of flame that singed the ends of Sif’s hair and underneath its jaws. The dragon twisted about, trying to get its head around to bite her. She ducked under its forelegs, the top of her head nearly scraping its scaly underbelly, and aimed for the joint where leg met body.

The dragon jerked, roaring with sudden pain. It swiped back with its paw, catching Sif across the body. She rolled, armor rattling against the parquet.

Thor roared above her. Sif clambered to her feet, dodging razor-sharp claws, and looked up. Thor was clinging to the dragon’s wing, grappling with the leathery appendage and pinning it with the weight of his body.

Again Sif struck for the joint. Black blood welled up at the point of her sword. The dragon howled and twisted its head, searing its side with flame. Sif rolled out of the way, wrenching her sword free at the last second. Beside her Thor wiped blood from his lip.

“Where is Mjölnir?” Sif asked.

“On its way,” Thor said, grin cheerful.

Sif shook her head and dove back at the dragon. Her best strategy was to keep it close, keep underneath it, so it couldn’t roast her in her armor. She slashed at its belly as she went by, her sword punching through armored scales as well as it did armor, leaving a long deep gash.

Muscles rippled under scales. The dragon beat its wings furiously. Sif lost her purchase against the gale-force wind. She lost her feet, falling hard on the parquet flooring. She twisted in a vain attempt to get her feet back under her.

Across the courtyard she could see Loki fighting with the queen. Illusions danced around her, laughing and taunting her into a frenzy. She whirled about, wielding the sword in her hand with expert and deadly skill— _the sword designed to kill Aesir…_

There was no time to worry for Loki. The dragon, surprisingly agile for a beast of its size, pounced on her. Sif rolled away from its powerful swipes, suddenly and fiercely glad of her training to _always keep her shield up._ Claws scraped against metal, keeping her pinned to the ground. The dragon leaned down, its hot breath blistering against Sif’s face. She looked up and saw only teeth.

A bolt of lightning shrieked out of the sky, pounding the ground beside Sif like an anvil blow. The dragon lurched back, stung, snorting short blasts of fire. Sif scrambled to her feet.

Thor whirled Mjölnir in his hand and charged the dragon. He caught it across the snout with one mighty blow and then another. Its head jerked this way and that, battered about by the hammer.

It reared back, the crimson scales of its underbelly glowing red-hot, and spat fire at him. Thor dove out of the way, flames eating at the edge of his cape.

Sif scanned the battlefield for any advantage. Her eyes fell on a curling silver trellis covered with ivy and moon-pale flowers that rose all the way to the castle’s parapets.

“Thor!” she cried, gesturing to the trellis. “Can you back it up?”

“Of course!” Thor called back. He spun Mjölnir so quickly the hammer became a blur of silver metal. He charged at the dragon’s face, with no apparent regard for its wicked teeth.

Sif ran for the trellis. She adjusted her grip on her sword and then hooked her feet between the slats and began to climb. It was awkward, climbing with sword in hand, and the flowering vines gripped at her, slowing her on the way up. When she dared to look she saw Thor hammering the dragon’s snout with blasts of lightning, and Loki across the courtyard a dervish of green magic.

She climbed until the trellis swayed under her weight, and then carefully turned herself around. It was harder to hold on like this, held in place awkwardly by her shield arm, her ankles just barely finding purchase.

Thor was slowly driving the dragon back inch by inch. It shook its head wildly, trying to snap at him, but he dodged out of the way. He struck the ground in front of it with Mjölnir and the floor erupted in lightning, spewing parquet tiles in a ripple of stone shards. The dragon took another hop back, beating its wings in alarm, and Sif had to cling to the trellis or risk being blown off.

She waited, counting the seconds by heartbeats, watching the beast’s lashing tail as it backed closer and closer to the wall. Thor did not give it an inch of quarter, constantly driving it with mighty blows of his hammer, skillfully maneuvering it.

The dragon slammed the trellis with the flat of its tail and the whole thing shook. Sif bit her cheek and tasted blood gushing hot into her mouth. The dragon was close enough that she could feel the heat rippling off of its scales.

She leaped. As she flew through the air she spun her sword into position, holding it in front of her like a javelin. Her aim was true. The sword plunged through the dragon’s neck and into the back of its skull, spewing sticky gouts of black blood that covered Sif up to the shoulder.

The dragon roared and flamed its dying fury. Sif held true, twisting her sword into its brain. The dragon toppled, thrashing, tossing Sif to the side. She tumbled over the ruined floor, ducking into a ball as she went, her sword still lodged in the dragon’s skull. It spat two great blasts of flame. One caught Sif across the shoulder with a white hot burning pain.

She screamed, smelling her flesh burn under that impossible heat, and wrenched herself away from the flames. That had been the dragon’s last defiance. It lay still on the courtyard floor, bleeding out sluggishly all over the beautiful tiles.

Sif bit her already swollen cheek and lurched to her feet, searing agony nearly blinding her. She staggered over to where Thor had been knocked to the ground by the dragon’s death throes and pulled him to his feet.

“We need to help Loki,” she ground out, gritting her teeth against the pain.

When she looked across the courtyard it was already too late.

Loki’s eyes were on her and not on his opponent, his lips parted and his gaze open in a way she had rarely seen it. He realized his mistake a moment later and whirled around, dagger flying from his open hand. It flew true, striking the queen in the throat, but she lashed out at the last moment with her sword and cut Loki across the shoulder.

He glanced down, eyes wide with amazement at the tiny trickle of red blood that rolled down his arm. Sif watched in mute horror as Loki crumpled to the ground.

“Loki!” she screamed, just as Thor bellowed, “No!”

Together they raced across the courtyard towards where Loki had fallen and Queen Alfsigr lay dying. She cackled at them, wheezing and choking on her own blood. “At least I took one of you with me,” she said, her smile and the blood making her face grotesque.

“Quiet, witch,” Thor said, choked with tears.

Sif knelt beside Loki, gathering his limp body up into her arms. He was already impossibly cold, skin fading to a pale bluish-grey. Tears welled up hot behind her eyes and Sif tenderly brushed his dark hair away from his face, already so impossibly dear to her.

“How could she-?” Thor asked, bewildered.

“The sword was made to take the soul of an Aesir with even the smallest cut,” Sif explained, Loki’s words echoed from her lips. Some great chasm welled up inside her, threatening to swallow her whole if she let it. She ran her fingers over his features again.

A ghost of breath tickled her fingers. Sif stilled her fingers over Loki’s lips, not quite daring to hope that it wasn’t just her imagination playing a cruel trick on her. Again she felt it, that lightest brush of cool air.

“He isn’t dead,” she whispered, wondering by what miracle he had managed to hang on. Perhaps if he had something to hold on to, something to help him find his way back—

“What?” Thor asked, but Sif did not answer his question.

She cradled Loki’s head in her hands, fingers twisting through his soft hair. “Come back to me,” she whispered, and pressed her lips to his. They were cold and unmoving against hers. Tears hovered on her eyelashes, obscuring his face. “I love you.”

Nothing happened for several breaths. Then, Loki’s eyelids flickered and he coughed, jerking awake in Sif’s lap. Color rapidly flooded back into his cheeks. He sat up, blinking owlishly at Sif. She lunged forward and threw her arms around him.

“Ow,” Loki said, and when Thor followed closely behind Sif and threw his arms around the both of them he grunted with pain. “Much as I appreciate the exuberance, it is quite painful.”

Thor released them, and Sif pulled back, shaking her head at Loki.

“I can hardly believe it,” Thor said.

“Neither can I,” Loki answered, but his eyes were on Sif. “Did you truly mean it?”

“Don’t you dare ruin this,” Sif told him, and she kissed him again. Loki returned the sentiment quite happily, hands twisting in her hair.

“Umm, Sif…” Thor said, and Sif turned to scowl irritably at her friend who had quite admirably _ruined the moment_ only to see the remnants of Queen Alfsigr’s guards closing in all around them, spears raised tentatively. She clenched her jaw, remembering that her sword was still embedded in a dead dragon’s skull.

“Can you fight?” she asked Loki.

“I can try,” Loki said gamely, getting gingerly to his feet. The all three circled around one another, shoulder to shoulder, facing their newest enemy together. Loki’s fingers brushed Sif’s, and he pressed one of her daggers into her palm. Sif clutched it gratefully.

A horn blast sounded outside the gate. The queen’s guards hesitated, looking towards the noise. The beautifully wrought gate blasted off its hinges and into the courtyard. A thunder of cavalry trampled into the courtyard, and at their head were Fandral and Hogun. They swept over the battlefield, and any soldier who did not immediately drop his weapon was cut down under Asgardian blades.

Sif sunk to her knees in relief. Against her shoulder, Loki staggered.

Within minutes the battle was mopped up and Fandral and Hogun rode to their friends at the center of the courtyard.

“I see you did most of our work for us,” Fandral said, looking down at the dead elf queen with one cocked eyebrow. “One more hour and you’d have left us with no work at all.”

“Well, we had to save some glory for your blade,” Thor said, and he grinned.

Hogun looked around at the group of them, spying the missing one of their number. “Where is Volstagg?” he asked.

“In the queen’s dungeons,” Thor answered. “Safe, but for his much neglected belly.”

Fandral clapped Hogun on the shoulder. “Well then,” he said, “I suppose it is up to us valiant types to rescue him.” They departed into the delicate insides of the elf queen’s castle to go find their missing friend.

Sif helped Loki to his feet, slinging his arm over her uninjured shoulder, his weight supporting hers as much as she did his. She handed him over to several warriors with strict instructions—over his protests—that he needed to be seen to in the healing rooms, and only smiled sweetly at Loki when he scowled at her from the back of his horse.

Thor stood beside her, one eyebrow raised. “So,” he said. “You and Loki?”

“Not one word,” Sif warned him.

“I only wanted to say that I am happy,” Thor said. “For you both.”

Sif smiled at that.

“And,” Thor continued, “that you are equally matched in stubbornness. You need the healing rooms as badly as he does.”

Sif gave him a reproachful look, to which Thor only smiled. “Go. I shall retrieve your sword.”

Her only legitimate complaint preempted, Sif shook her head. “As my prince commands,” she said, and she submitted herself to the soldiers who helped her graciously onto a horse.

After a thorough examination in the healing rooms, Eir declared Loki fine if in need of rest and sunshine. She tutted over Sif’s burn and the lump on the back of her skull and gave her a salve for each. The burn salve was soothingly cool, and the other leeched a pain from her head she hadn’t even known she’d been carrying until it was gone. Satisfied, Eir left to tend to other patients.

At last, Sif was alone with Loki. She abandoned her own bed for his, settling in knee to knee with him.

“The queen was not actually invisible to Heimdall’s sight,” Loki said. “She only used a spell that distracted him when he looked upon her kingdom, so he looked elsewhere. Once he had reason to believe us in danger, he was able to see through it quickly.”

Sif raised her brows. “Indeed?” she asked.

“I wonder if it would be possible, to truly hide from Heimdall’s sight,” Loki wondered aloud.

“I hope not,” Sif said. “It would mean trouble.”

When Loki finally spoke again, it was of a different topic entirely. “I believe Thor means to have that dragon’s head mounted,” he said. “A trophy for your victory.”

“I hope he doesn’t mean to put it in my quarters,” Sif said. “I haven’t the room for a dragon’s head.”

“It would be uncomfortable,” Loki agreed. “To have a dead dragon staring down at you at all hours of the day and night…” His fingers curled pleasingly against her thigh, making sure she did not mistake his meaning.

“I hope you understand now that I’m in love with you and no one else,” Sif said pointedly.

“Oh, I’m not sure,” Loki said, but his eyes sparkled with mirth. “You did kill a dragon with Thor after all.”

Sif elbowed him. “And my kiss returned you to life,” she said waspishly. “Those two things hardly compare.”

“It seems to follow that that would prove the depth of _my_ affection for you, and not the opposite, considering I returned from the dead. You only kissed me,” Loki said, expression beguilingly innocent. “Doesn’t it?”

“You are impossible,” Sif said, love and frustration intermingling embers in her chest. “I did say that we would talk, later. Perhaps now is the time.”

“I am not sure what else needs saying, my lady,” Loki said, and he drew her into a kiss.


End file.
